


The Short Way Home

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby Finds Out, Bodyswap, Established Relationship, First Time Bottom Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Pre-Canon, but not John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 10:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20406598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: The possibly-voodoo zombie-lord necromancer turns outs out to be the least of their worries when Sam and Dean get body swapped.





	The Short Way Home

Sam was extra pissy in the car, because he didn't get to finish sucking Dean's dick when their dad interrupted them with the latest hunt. Dean thought Sam had no right to be in a bad mood because he had already gotten off and gone to his knees to return the favor when Dad pounded on the bathroom door. Dean was the one with an epic case of blue balls.

“Couldn't this have waited until tomorrow?” Sam whined.

“Zombies don't wait for anyone,” Dad said. “Got a lead on the voodoo doctor two towns over. We can make it before sunset.”

“The misconceptions about voodoo are left over from racist fear mongering and stereotypes,” Sam said, arms crossed over his chest and long legs folded awkwardly into the footwell of the backseat. At 16, Sam was growing like a bean and always in a bad mood unless he has his mouth or his hands on his older brother. Keeping Sam happy was, as far as Dean was concerned, a good enough reason to break the laws of god and men. It was just like when he was a kid spending hours in the back of the Impala, doing anything it took to keep a whiny toddler quiet.

Yeah, right. Just like that.

“What else do you call someone who raises zombies?” John growled, hands tight around the steering wheel.

“See that right there is what I'm talking about,” Sam bitched. “The assumption that people of color are the primary practitioners of necromancy.”

“Fine. Forget voodoo. We've got a goddamn zombie lord on our hands.”

Dean hooked an arm over the back of the seat and craned around to look at his brother. “Doesn't that sound fucking cool?”

Sam's mouth was still twisted up like an angry snail but Dean saw the corner twitch a little and counted it as a win. 

Zombies turned out to be slightly less cool and significantly more uncanny than he had anticipated but they were easy to kill. Or, well, incapacitate.

The much-maligned possibly-voodoo necromancer lord turned out to be a pimply college-age white boy who had gotten his hands on an ancient book. “Don't touch it,” Dad barked, as he put cuffs on the necromancer. The kid was trembling.  _ Good, _ Dean thought.  _ That's what you get for interrupting my blowjob.  _

Dean tossed Sam the baggie of rock salt and popped open the bottle of lighter fluid. The necromancer made a strangled noise of protest and they must have missed disarming him of some bauble or other because there was a flash of blue light and a shock wave across the room that made all of them stumble. Dean's shoulder knocked hard into Sam’s and Sam flung out a hand to steady himself, palm landing flat on the worn leather cover of the book. 

The world spun dizzily and Dean thought he might have blacked out for a second. When he blinked everything had shifted. He felt off-balance, disoriented. The world looks slightly different, the colors were ever so slightly wrong. The smell of lighter fluid and zombies was suddenly much stronger than it had been a moment before, and he had a bag of rock salt in his hand. 

Behind him, someone swore. The voice was familiar, not quite right. 

Dean turned and saw… himself.

“Motherfucker!” he yelped and Sam's vocal cords made the words crack in the middle. 

“Boys," Dad snapped, patting down the baddie for other weapons. “Light it up.”

“You've got the lighter fluid,” Dean reminded Sam, who was standing there gaping at him in his own body. Boy, that was weird. Weirder than zombies although way less disgusting. Dean wasn't bad to look at, if he said so himself. 

Sam jolted, and then splashed gasoline all over the book. “Lighter, back left pocket,” Dean prompted. Sam pulled it out and it took him four tries to flick the starter successfully with clumsy hands.

The book went up with a  _ whoomph _ . 

“What the fuck?” Sam whispered with Dean's voice, touching his face exploratorily. “Did we…?”

“Swap?” Dean said. “I think so.” John was distracted putting the fear of god into the pimply necromancer. 

Sam ran both hands down his chest, down Dean's body, and rubbed a palm over the fly of his jeans. “This is so fucking weird.”

“Hey. Gentle with the goods.”

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam said, “Is that really your biggest concern right now? Anyway you know I know how to handle your junk.”

“Shhh!” Dean shot a glance at Dad, who was finished patting down the necromancer for other dangerous objects. 

“Let’s go, boys,” John said, leaving the college boy tied to a chair. “I’ve left a tip for the cops, they’ll be here soon.”

Sam and Dean followed him back to the car and there was a moment of confusion where Dean headed for the front seat automatically and Dad gave him an odd look. 

“Shotgun is mine, bitch,” Sammy said and Dean gaped at him. 

“No fucking way!” he yelped and his voice came out sounding high and awkward. “I can still whup your ass!” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Sam crowed, and, boy, if Dean looked half as maliciously gleeful as Sam did wearing his face, no wonder if little brother tried to punch him so often. Never one to back down from a challenge, Dean tackled his own body, which unfortunately had the advantage of four years and about sixty pounds of muscle on Sam’s body, although Sam had recently reached the same height as Dean. 

Sam used his new edge to wrestle Dean against the car using  _ his own body _ , which was deeply unfair, and Dean found himself pressed against the hot metal of the Impala with Sam crowded up behind him, pinning his arms, and  _ oh _ , Sam’s body was hard so fast Dean got dizzy.  _ Holy shit. _

“Boys!” their dad barked. “Car, now.” 

Sam shoved him away and claimed the front seat while Dean was still dazed with his teenage arousal. 

“Sam!” Dad snapped. It took Dean a long moment to realize that meant him. He slid into the back seat, too off-kilter to argue. 

They made the trip back to the hotel room in relative silence, and when Dean helped grab the weapons out of the trunk to clean, like usual, John gave him another strange look. 

“First shower,” Dean called when they got to the room, not because the hunt had been dirty so much as to escape the oppressive weirdness of sharing a hotel room with his dad and his own body. 

He stripped off under the harsh florescent, and stared at himself in the mirror. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen this body before; he was more familiar with Sam than any brother should be. There was a bite mark on Sam’s hipbone, a faint, fading purple, that Dean had left there himself three days ago. But it was different to run his hands over Sam’s body, kiss his skin, taste his sweat, than it was to be inside it. It felt more like looking through a window than looking in a mirror. His brain kept telling him “That’s not me.” 

He turned the shower on, making the old pipes creak and groan. Sam’s dick perked up as if it knew what showers were for. Well, it probably did. “Sorry buddy,” Dean said to it, shocked again at how weird Sam’s voice sounded coming out of his mouth. “Not tonight.” Again, he’d touched Sam’s cock before, jerked him off hundreds of times since they were both probably way too young. But Sam had  _ been there _ every time. Been there to say  _ yes, like that, more Dean, I want that. _ It felt… wrong to touch him like this. Voyeuristic and one side. 

Dean showered fast. 

When he emerged wrapped in a towel, his dad was glaring at Sam, who was sprawled in his usual insouciant slouch which looked very strange in Dean’s body. “What’s gotten into you, Dean?” he was saying, looking equally bewildered and furious. 

Dean glared at Sam and kicked his own shin, but not too hard, because, well, it was his shin. “What’d you do, squirt?” 

“Boys, what’s going on?” John said narrowing his eyes and looking back and forth between them. 

Dean swallowed. “We got. Um. Swapped. I’m Dean.” 

There was a tense moment of silence, and then John looked at Sam and said, “Sam?” 

Sam nodded and their father exploded. “You didn’t say anything? What the hell were you boys thinking? Some kind of curse or spell and you two just, what, decide to wait and see what happens? How stupid are you? You know better than that! Dean, I expect better than that of you!” He started to turn toward Dean’s body, made an aborted movement, and swung toward Dean-as-Sam instead. 

Dean felt his shoulders rise, an instinctive hunch that he had trained his own body out of, but Sam’s folded into it easily. It made him want to whoop Sam’s ass for bad habits at the same time as he wanted to pull his brother into his arms and never let him feel like this. 

They weathered their dad’s yelling for another fifteen minutes or so and then John stomped out to use the office payphone to call Bobby. 

Sam turned to him instantly. “Did you jerk off?” 

“No, I didn’t jerk off. Keep your voice down,” Dean hissed. 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t… I didn’t...” Dean spluttered, “it was weird.” 

“Yeah but good weird. Don’t you want to do it like this?” Sam ran his hands down his chest -  _ Dean’s _ chest - and cupped the bulge of his dick, which Dean could see already thickening. He was gratified to notice it looked bigger from the outside. 

Dean let out a heavy breath. “Course I do. Just… wanted you.” 

Sam’s eyebrows quirked. “Looks like you have me already.” 

“Shut up.” Dean grabbed the back of Sam’s head, which was less satisfying when it was  _ Dean’s _ head, and didn’t have all that hair to tangle his fingers in. “ _ You _ you is in here, doofus.” 

“Aw, Dean, that’s almost…” 

Dean shut him up with a kiss before he could say something like  _ sweet _ . 

Ok, it was… well,  _ weird _ really was the only word for it. But not  _ that _ weird. Their mouths slotted together with easy familiarity, and the comforting smell of their bodies filled Dean’s nostrils, indistinguishable. Sam had learned to kiss from Dean, and the technique was the same, even though Dean’s lips were a little fuller than Sam’s and felt different between his own borrowed set. 

Dean was rock hard again. Sam’s dick had never really gone completely soft after the shower. Sam hooked his thumbs in Dean’s belt loops and dragged their hips together. They were the same height, had been for about two months, but the thought that Dean almost, maybe, might have had to tilt his head up to kiss his brother, if this had happened just a little while ago - something about that was driving him crazy. He was maybe slouching down a little just so he could crane his neck back, kissing his own mouth from a little bit below. It wasn’t his fault, it was just how their bodies fit most comfortably. How they’d learned to kiss, after all. 

Sam was making his familiar, needy little whimpers that somehow sounded even filthier coming out of Dean’s own throat. Dean didn’t  _ whimper _ . He groaned like a man. But damn, it was hot to wring noises like that out of Sammy. 

The scrape of the key in the lock had them leaping apart on reflex, so practiced at this by now that they were on opposite sides of the room by the time John got the door open. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Dean swore silently and vehemently to himself. Sam’s cock was aching, a wet spot of pre-come making his boxers sticky. 

“Pack up,” John growled. “We’re going to Bobby’s.” 

It was almost a fourteen-hour drive to Sioux Falls from the zombie hunt in Tennessee. They stopped for gas around midnight somewhere near the Iowa border, and Sam spent way too long in the bathroom. He came out looking relaxed and a little flushed. 

“Fall in the toilet?” John muttered as he shouldered past Sam to use the one-holer himself. 

“It’s not my fault Dean’s constipated,” Sam called after him. 

Dean punched him in the arm, hard, temporarily forgetting that he was the one who would have to live with the bruise when they got this sorted. “You were jerking off,” he accused. 

“Of course I was jerking off,” Sam said, low. “Have you seen yourself, Dean?” He gave a little smirk that was so familiar Dean could practically feel it tugging at the muscles of his own borrowed face. Dean was struck again with the fierce urge to kiss it off him, but he couldn’t risk it in the pool of artificial light around the gas pumps, with the night clerk inside maybe watching. Sam’s stupid, teenage body was hard again, of course, just from the thought of Sam touching Dean’s body in some gas station bathroom while Dean wasn’t there to watch. 

Then the bathroom door creaked and John came around the side of the building, ready to get back on the road. Dean crawled into the back seat without complaint this time, stretching out as much as he could, with Sam’s gangly, over-grown limbs knocking against the window crank and the back of the driver’s seat. He got himself settled as they pulled back on the interstate, no streetlights anywhere for miles, just the beam of the headlights and the dim glow from the dashboard casting almost nonexistent illumination inside the car. Sam’s dick was still hard, apparently as at home with the familiar rumble of the Impala as Dean was. He knew from experience you could jerk off easily in the back seat without being caught, from being Sam’s age himself and killing time on the road when Sam had won shotgun in some bet, or when Dean was recovering from an injury, or sometimes after a rough hunt when Sam still wanted to curl up with him to sleep; trying to stay as still as he could while he jacked off, using his left hand because his little brother was slumped against his other shoulder, asleep, making a mess in his jeans with the feel of Sam’s breath gusting steadily against his neck, hurtling through the night in this little bubble that smelled like leather and home. 

Dean could tell he was close just from those memories and from rubbing his dick through his jeans. Jesus, no wonder Sam was all over him all the time, if this was what his dick was like. But Dean wasn’t actually sixteen anymore and no way was he going to spend the next eight hours to South Dakota with his boxers full of spunk. He fumbled around in the footwell until he found a discarded napkin from some drive-through, lost under the passenger seat. 

Unbuttoning his jeans, he slid the zipper down slowly, sound lost under the rumble of the engine, and pulled Sam’s dick out, feeling the thrill of exposing himself in the nighttime car. It was so good and so weird to wrap his hand around it - not like touching himself at all. Sam was sensitive in different places, liked a different rhythm. He leaked more than Dean, head already slick with it, and it made everything better. The years of practice knowing exactly what Sam liked had Dean arching into his fist in minutes, biting his lips hard as he spilled into the napkin. 

He slept lightly for the rest of the drive, but he was still groggy when dad pulled into the salvage yard and parked the car. He and Sam stumbled up the stairs to the attic room they’d always shared at Bobby’s, with the two twin beds that were easy to push together, and fell onto the mattresses as dawn peeked through the curtains. 

Dean woke to afternoon light, and his own body curled around him. His face was pressed to Sam’s chest, the amulet skin-warm against his cheek, and Sam’s arm was thrown over him. It had been a long time since he was held by someone bigger than him, and Dean was still bigger than Sam, if maybe not for long. There was something visceral about being wrapped up in a larger embrace, cradled and protected. He lay still, letting himself drift in the sleepy, comfortable warmth, not thinking about it too hard. 

You couldn’t really smell your own skin-scent - the smell that wasn’t body odor or sweat but just person - but with his nose buried in his own clavicle, Dean breathed in a familiar smell that was almost exactly Sam. He didn’t know if that was because they’d lived in the same space forever - the same food, the same sheets, the same cheap soap - or something genetic about them being brothers, but he breathed deeply and snuggled closer. Sam tightened his strong arms around Dean’s shoulders and Dean rocked his hard cock against Sam’s - his own - muscular thigh. 

Sam’s body was telling him that it wouldn’t mind getting off just like this, as an appetizer, then they could move on to something more interesting. That thought alone was winding Dean up - he’d always had a thing for making Sammy shoot in his boxers, lose control without even undressing him - and apparently he was still into it, even if he was going to be the one with sticky pubes afterward. 

Sam made a sleepy humming sound that rumbled in his chest, and nuzzled the top of his head. Opening his mouth, Dean pressed a sloppy kiss against Sam’s collarbone and hitched their hips together. Oh yeah, this was going to be over fast. 

Outside their door, the attic stairs creaked with heavy footsteps. They jolted apart moments before there was a pounding on the door. “Downstairs in ten, boys,” their dad called. “It’s after lunchtime. Research won’t wait.” 

Dean flopped back on his own bed, boner throbbing, and dug his fingers into Sammy’s silky, too-long hair. “Fuck.” 

When they skulked downstairs, there was a pot of canned chili bubbling on the stove and books spread out across the kitchen table. They ate standing at the sink, to protect the valuable texts from tomato sauce splatters, and then joined John and Bobby in digging through texts on zombies, changelings, transformations, anything that might be related to altering the fundamental nature of a person. 

Dean actually found it surprisingly easy to focus. It was like his borrowed body settled into the words, despite the fact that he couldn’t quite get his long legs positioned comfortably under the table. It was his brother who was restless, squirming and tapping his fingers, chewing on a pen, distracting the fuck out of Dean with his own mouth, which was just an extra level of wrong, until Dean kicked him. “Dude stop.”

“It’s  _ your _ body,” Sam complained. “It doesn’t like sitting still.” 

“That’s because I’m not a little nerd,” Dean said, winding up for a good scuffle because his body might be calm but  _ he _ was bored as hell. 

“Boys,” their dad growled, a clear warning, and they both bent over the books again. 

It was dark by the time Sam sat back, rubbing his eyes. His tired expression, the one that hadn’t changed since he was a sleepy toddler wanting Dean to carry him to bed, made Dean’s face look young in a way that Dean couldn’t look at for too long. When Sam yawned loudly for the third time, making everyone else at the table stifle contagious yawns of their own, John said, “Both of you, go to bed. Bobby and I will keep looking.” 

“I’m fine, Dean’s just an old man,” Sam grumbled, but he got up quickly. They’d both spotted their chance, and made double time up the stairs, wide awake by the time they reached the top. 

“Old man?” Dean growled, his voice coming out unexpectedly deep. Huh, who knew Sammy’s vocal cords could do ‘threatening’ so well? 

Sam grinned at him, blinding, and shoved him through the door to their attic room, locking it behind them. Being manhandled like that made Dean’s stomach swoop in a way he didn’t want to think about too hard. They landed on the bed together, a little less coordinated than usual, still unused to where all their limbs were. Probably they should practice sparring like this, get used to the change in reach and gravity just in case something nasty got the jump on them, couldn’t be too careful, but then Sam was pinning him to the bed, kissing him ferociously and all other thoughts vanished from Dean’s head. 

It had always been like this, Sam squirming around on top of him, demanding with his mouth and his hands. From the very first time Sam had crawled into his lap and kissed him, this had been their dynamic. But it was… different when Sam was bigger than him. One thing to humor his little brother, who he could still pick up and lift off him if he wanted, to let Sam set the pace just to be sure Dean didn’t hurt him, Sammy calling the shots to make this thing between them a little less fucked up. It was another thing entirely to be pinned under his own muscular weight, to be not quite sure he could shift Sam off him if he tried. Dean bucked up experimentally, his own body hardly giving an inch as Sam held him down, and that combined with the dry friction on his cock thrust him unexpectedly over the edge before he even realized he was close. 

Dean’s eyes rolled back and his mouth opened in a silent shout as he came in his pants like - well, like his fucking kid brother. 

Sam pushed himself up on his elbows and stared down at him, flushed. “Did you just… holy  _ shit _ , Dean.” Then he was scrambling down Dean’s body - Sam’s own body - and tugging at his fly. Dean groaned as Sam tugged his cock out, still twitching and sensitive, covered in come. The groan turned into a gasp as Sam took it into his mouth, no preamble at all. And, yeah, Sam had always loved the taste of his own come, like to get it fed to him, two fingers in his mouth, and obviously he liked it even better from the source, sucking him clean while Dean shook with aftershocks, until the overstimulation was almost painful, trying to get hard again already without ever fully going soft. 

Dean shoved him off, and Sam lifted his head, lips glistening sinfully, pupils blown black. “Dean. Dean, Dean. I want to fuck you. Please, can I?” 

“You what?” Dean croaked, fighting through the haze of orgasm to sit up. Sam was kneeling between his spread knees. He’d never… they’d always...

“It’ll be so good, I promise. I know what I like, I know you’ll love it. My body knows how to take it, it’ll be easy. It feels so good, I want to make you feel it. Please, Dean.” 

Dean let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. It made sense - he remembered how much work it had been to stretch Sam open at the beginning, over the course of three weeks the summer Sam was fourteen when their dad had left them alone in a trailer in New Mexico. Now Sam could take it with barely any prep, just two fingers and lube, and then Dean’s cock, whenever they had a private moment. His body was still tingling with the soft aftermath of orgasm, feeling loose and relaxed. Sam was practically vibrating. “Ok, Sammy.” 

His stomach fluttered nervously as Sam bounded off the bed to dig the lube out of his duffel, shedding clothes as he went. Dean had - well, sure, he’d imagined it. Hard not to wonder how good it was when Sam was falling apart on his cock, begging him for more. It wasn’t that he thought it made you less of a man or anything, it was just… a lot. He trusted Sam, of course, with his goddamn life, but there was something frighteningly intense about the idea of being taken like that. Dean knew something about danger and he didn’t like feeling vulnerable. He’d always thought maybe they’d get to it someday but someday hadn’t arrived. Until now. 

Sam landed on the bed again, mattress bouncing, his usual teenage enthusiasm taking on an added grace in Dean's body. They wrestled Dean's jeans and sticky boxers off Sam's body so they were both naked on the threadbare sheets. When Dean moved to roll over onto his stomach Sam stopped him with a hand on his chest. "I want to look at you," he said, and leaned down to kiss him before Dean could protest. His lips were still bitter with come.

"Narcissist," Dean said, and it came out rough around the edges. 

Sam shook his head, petting his own dark curls back from Dean's forehead. "What was it that you said about the real you being in here? Doofus." 

"Hey, don't steal my lines,” Dean protested but broke off as Sam pushed his knees apart. His breath hitched. He could feel cool air on the tender damp skin beneath his balls. One of Sam's hands was urging him to bring his knee further up to his chest and he did, heartbeat spiking with the feeling of exposure. It made him hot with something that was trying to be shame and got lost along the way in arousal. Or maybe it was the other way around. 

He didn't flinch when he heard the snap of the lube cap but he did jump a little when Sam's fingers brushed his perineum. "Cold," he explained.

"Sorry." Sam kissed the inside of his knee, moving his fingers gently further back. Dean was just getting used to the slick touch when Sam's fingers skated over his hole and he jolted again. Sam sucked a kiss into the tender flesh of his thigh and Dean was sidetracked by the thought of Sam leaving a hickey on his own body when Sam pushed two fingers inside him.

“Jesus!” His knees jerked, almost hitting Sam in the face. 

“Relax, you gotta relax. It’s just me. It’s not even your ass, right?” 

“Sure feels like it,” Dean grunted, and then gasped as Sam’s fingers crooked and hit his prostate dead-on. Dean's arched off the bed, mouth open.

“Good, right?” Sam sounded smug. 

Dean’s couldn’t drag together words for a reply. He was used to sexual pleasure happening in his dick but that made his whole pelvic region light up like an MTV soundstage. His dick - Sam’s - throbbed against his stomach, fully hard again and clearly on board. It knew what was happening, which was more than Dean could say for himself. 

“Dean, do you like it?” Sam’s fingers probed again, sending hot shocks through his body. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“Don’t stop,” Dean grunted, and it was Sam’s voice, syllable for syllable. Somewhere deep in Dean’s hindbrain it soothed something, hearing his brother reassure him that this was okay - he wanted this. Even though that was stupid, it was  _ Dean _ who’d said that; Dean who was about to get fucked. 

“Okay. Okay.” There was a slight burn around the rim of his hole as Sam added a third finger but it eased away into nothing almost instantly, just an intense sensation of fullness. But of course, Sam’s body knew what to do. Just like he could trust his body in a fight to throw a knife or draw a gun without conscious thought, he could trust Sam’s body to do this. 

“‘M ready,” he mumbled. 

Sam didn’t ask if he was sure. Dean’s stamina was pretty good but the kid was probably getting desperate by now. He shuffled up so his knees were under Dean’s hips, and Dean had to close his eyes at the sight of his own body looming over him, flushed, hard cock bobbing between his thighs. 

“Deep breath, Dean.” The head of his cock felt huge and smooth after his blunt fingers. “Fuck, fuck, Dean,” Sam gasped in his own rough voice, but Dean barely even heard it, his senses narrowing down to the feeling of penetration. He sucked in a breath, felt the frantic tightness in his chest release a little, and suddenly Sam was sliding in easily, almost all the way to the base. 

His eyes flew open in shock, and he and Sam stared at one another, mouths open. It didn’t hurt at all, not on the scale that Dean measured pain, but it felt - it was - he was flushed, sweat breaking out instantly all over, skin tingling and tight like it had suddenly shrunk a size too small. He clenched down again in a flash of confusion and both of them shouted simultaneously. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Sam was hunched over with his eyes squeezed shut, hands clamped on his thighs hard enough to bruise. “We’ve gotta -  _ fuck _ \- we’ve got to be quiet.  _ Dean _ .” 

“S’okay, s’okay,” Dean managed, everything else overridden by the urge to comfort Sammy. Sam made a helpless, broken noise and thrust his hips a little. Just that tiny shift went through Dean’s whole body in a hot shiver, and when Sam did it again, starting an experimental little rhythm, Dean couldn’t help the noise that punched out of his chest. 

“Shh, shh. I’ve got you Dean, I’ve got you.” Dean swallowed back more noise he wanted to make, aware that he’d probably said almost the exact same thing to Sam on his first time, something twisting tight in his chest at that thought. But there wasn’t time to think about it - thank god - because Sam was a quick study, already figuring out how to hold Dean’s thighs for leverage and rock into him. Dean swore he could feel it to the tips of his fingers, the steady, building pressure, like a balloon being filled with hot water. Dean was clinging to Sam’s shoulders - his own shoulders - broad and strong, muscles in his arms and thighs flexing with each thrust. Sam’s slender, pink cock was leaking copiously all over his stomach, like always. 

His balls were pulled up against his body, already close, but he couldn't even think about chasing orgasm, out of his mind on the rush. He felt like he couldn't draw a full breath, body too full for anything else, even air. All he could do was hold on, feeling the overwhelming pressure building hot and tight in his gut. 

“Oh god, oh god.” Sam was panting and trembling above him, sweat gleaming on his brow, flushed all the way down Dean's chest. “Please come for me, Dean. I’m going to come, I can’t take it any longer, I need you to come too.” 

Dean choked on a sound like a sob and bit down on his own freckled shoulder as he did. Every muscle in his body tightened, his brother’s dick suddenly so much bigger inside him, hot, shuddering waves of climax wracking him the base of his cock all the way down to his toes. It went on and on, long after he had finished spurting messily between their bellies. The movement of Sam rutting frantically inside him kept sparking the feeling again, making him clench and shiver, until he wasn’t sure if he was still coming or if he’d actually come  _ again _ , dry. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” Sam was gasping in his ear, and then he went still, and Dean could actually feel his own cock pulsing inside him. 

They collapsed together, listing sideways on the bed. Dean made an undignified sound as Sam slid out of him, hole leaking stickily down the backs of his thighs. Sam still had an arm and a leg flung over Dean, and the weight of his own body pressing him down was comforting. Drowsy with orgasm, Dean fumbled for a discarded sock that had ended up at the foot of the bed, and wiped himself off as best he could, resigning himself to being uncomfortably sticky in the morning. Sam made a disgruntled noise at being disturbed and pulled him close again, big octopus arms wrapped around Dean’s borrowed shoulders. Burrowing into his chest, Dean closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

When he woke, morning sun was shining through the grimy window and Dean’s nose was buried in Sam’s hair. Sam’s  _ real _ hair, dark, silky curls tickling his nostrils. Sitting up abruptly, Dean clutched at his own chest, staring down at his broad hands, the freckles on his arms. 

“Wha-?” Sam mumbled, dislodged from Dean’s shoulder, and then blinked fully awake himself and stared at Dean. “We switched back?” 

“Guess so.” 

Sam shifted his hips a little, and then blushed. 

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?” 

“Nothing. Just. I can feel where I... fucked myself.” 

A hot shiver ran through Dean, remembering, and he pressed his little brother down on the mattress to kiss him. 

They dragged themselves out of bed about forty five minutes later, cleaned up in hte cramped bathroom, and stumbled down the stairs together. 

Bobby was at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. "Good news, boys," he said as they came in together. "We've found a ritual. Your dad's gone out to get some things but we should have you been in your right bodies by lunchtime. Bad news is, it involves some bloodletting. Nothing too extreme though."

"Oh, uh." They glanced at each other. "Actually, we swapped back," Sam said. "Guess it wore off on its own."

Dean nodded. "Yeah just woke up this morning back to normal. Cool, huh?"

Bobby frowned. “That shouldn’t have happened. The only things that can undo this, without the spellbook, are rituals that bind souls. Blood magic or sex magic…" He stopped dead, staring at them.

Adrenaline hit Dean's bloodstream so hard it made him almost dizzy. He was sure the look on his face was guilty as hell, wide eyed and panicked. That was how he felt, anyway. He couldn't bring himself to look at his brother, but he heard Sam gulp. 

Bobby was going red, jaw working like he was trying to figure out what to say. Dean's brain kicked back into gear at triple speed, looking for some plausible excuse or, barring that, damage control. The supernatural was strange and unpredictable. Bobby couldn't be sure, not  _ sure _ sure. 

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets as casually as he could. "Just one of those things, I guess." Smooth, Winchester.  _ Fuck _ , Bobby was gonna tell Dad and Dad would… Dean felt sick just thinking about it. Beat them? Separate them? Maybe, probably, Dean could convince John that it wasn't Sam's fault, take the heat himself. A beating he could take, gladly, but leaving them? He could feel the panic rising again, paralyzing. 

"Yeah, incomplete lore, probably," Sam said, picking up his weak cover, a tremble in his voice that probably only Dean could hear. Sam's shoulder was pressed hard against his, defiant and afraid all at once, and when Dean risked a glance at his profile, his heart thumped with how brave and beautiful his brother was. 

Bobby glared at them for a few moments longer, and then stomped over to the phone on the opposite wall. Dean felt his heartbeat kick up again, uselessly anxious, nothing here he could fight. Sam pressed closer to him as Bobby dialed. 

"John, you find the powdered ammonite yet?" A pause. "Well good news. I found another reference to soul swaps in that text on metamorphosis. Says in cases where a close bond already exists, like with siblings," he glowered at them, "the swap will reverse itself within a few days. Something about the souls knowing their true home.” Dean breathed out unsteadily, barely daring to believe what he was hearing. “Yeah, think so,” Bobby continued. “Yeah, it was what, two days ago? They ought to be back by tonight, tomorrow at the latest. If not we can try the ritual then. Uh-huh. Right, no need to slice the boys open unless we really have to. Yeah. Okay. See you in an hour." He hung up and scowled fiercely at them. "Not a word. You two are gonna get out of my kitchen and pretend to still be swapped until dinner time at least." Exchanging a glance, Sam and Dean backed toward the doorway, neither of them about to question their luck. "And you'd better believe you're washing the damn sheets before you leave!" Bobby yelled after them as they burst through the screen door into the blinding sunlight. 

**Author's Note:**

> This plot bunny was born from reading [this excellent fic](https://lazy-daze.livejournal.com/452858.html) where Bobby Finds Out because they undo a body swap with sex. I love Bobby-finds-out and I love body swap, and because I am predictable, I wanted to write a pre-series story. Here it is. :)  
Please know that I was THIS CLOSE to titling this fic "put that thing back where it came from or so help me" but I chickened out.  
Comments are love! I have a wincest tumblr [here.](https://nevergettingoverwincest.tumblr.com/)


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